Memories of a Tattered Book: Short stories
by Space-Weazel
Summary: A collection of the short stories I write every so often. Most of them revolve around Piccolo and my original characters. I can gaurantee that these stories are not your average fodder you run into on this site.
1. Merry Christmas

A challenge for this stupid creative writing contest my teacher is making me enter, I have to write six short story type of shit. Screw it all, I'm doing what I want, I hope I loose with shame to. Fuck the school system, I'm not its bitch to be used for school fund making. I better get an A out of this *Note the pissed off anger.  
  
( A sample of 7.5's life)  
  
It hurts. . . again.  
  
Why does it always have to hurt so fucking much? What the fuck did I ever do to anyone goddamnit! Isn't enough that I can't feel the divine presence, nooo, they have to play it in my mind over and over and over again, it's like they WANT me to be what I am.  
  
But they never asked me. They never asked me.  
  
Yeah, there another one goes. That little red-hair girl. She's fucking afraid of me. Who does she think she is? God? She has no right to judge me, impudent little bitch. I hope that car gets her and her mother.  
  
The mother, she's barley eighteen. A child compared to most. Why is she looking at me like that? Does she. . . she does, she hates me? They always hate me! Do they think I choose to look the way I do? Do they think I wanted to be put in the skin I'm in?  
  
Now I'm acting like a fucking child complaining like this.  
  
'You always do this in the mornings.'  
  
Fuck you.  
  
' Give me your body and I will'  
  
Do you really believe I'm going to let you have my body, Nimrod?  
  
'I already own it, I always owned you- you and that boy of yours.'  
  
Leave him out of this.  
  
'We have gone through this every day for, twenty years.'  
  
Twenty-one.  
  
'Nevertheless, I never failed to give my part of keeping your punk ass among the people, and what do you give me? NOTHING! Some changes need to be made.'  
  
I'm not willing to negotiate. We agreed to this when we first met. As for your keeping me 'among the people', if I recall, you were the one who got me killed in the first place. " Oh, don't worry, stand there and take the blast. You will be alright" Like hell I am. Under you, I lost my face- I will not make the same mistake twice. I'm running out of body parts for you to destroy.  
  
' So you are blaming me for your loss. If I recall, no one ever made you take my advice in the first place. As for you face, you only lost your forehead, and you have a cloth to cover that up. You regenerate, why do you care if you get the occasional gun wound or knife through the heart?'  
  
I lost that power when I died, now I have holes the size of an oil tanker through my chest. You never made me take your advice, you're right- you forced it upon me. You lost me my eyes and much more, you lost my mind. Anytime I get injured, you control me, anytime I do something brilliant, but flawed, you do it, anytime I screw shit up worse than usual, you. If it wasn't for you and the so-called leatherface, I'd still be alive! Those knives through the heart hurt like hell to.  
  
' Let's take a trip back in time. Stop in front of the hospital, right in front of you.'  
  
It's a block away moron.  
  
'Navigation would be so much easier if you used a cane.'  
  
If you hadn't noticed, I CAN'T USE MY HANDS, YOU KNOW HOW THAT FUCKING HAPPENED ASSHOLE?  
  
'Ah, yes, that rendezvous with Piccolo. Heh, how is your old man by the way?'  
  
Don't call him that.  
  
'But it is deadly true, he took you in, sheltered you, taught you, . . . '  
  
Put a stop sign through my chest. Need I remind you how that happened?  
  
'Stop here. I can feel the presence of sweet drug induced coma. Morphine, the essence of life.'  
  
You said something about a time trip  
  
'Ah yes, I would suggest leaning against a wall about now, you are going to need it before this is over.'  
  
Just do it.  
  
Feels like I've lost consciousness. . . cant's move anymore. It's worse than my arthritis . . .  
  
The Pain. . . Always The Pain, it never changes with him. All his little 'trips' involve The Pain. It feels like he's skinning me live, I can almost feel the hooks digging into my legs while I hang upside-down as he ripped the flesh off my bones.  
  
Great, here it comes.  
  
A strike of what could best be described as a bolt of thunder shreds my nerves as it travels its journey straight through my brain, making my entire body jump-as though I took a lead pipe to the jaw.  
  
Perfect, my body hit something during that jolt, a wall. . . no. . .. A window, broke it- either that or I'm getting stabbed in the back by something, fuck it, I don't care.  
  
Everything is getting. . . dimmer, like its growing away from me.  
  
What is that Goddamn noise? A siren? Alarm? Nimrod, you set this up didn't you?  
  
Why is this taking so long? He's taking his sweet time again. Wonder what horrific thing he's digging up from my past now.  
  
'Ready kid?'  
  
Call me kid one more time, and I'll . . .  
  
'Please, refrain from getting excited.'  
  
If I could move my fingers, I'd be showing you one about now.  
  
'I will take that as yes.'  
  
Christmas Eve, the year AD 800.  
  
A masterpiece of reds, oranges, pinks, purples and everything in-between painted the most beautiful false landscape imaginable as the sun drifted behind glass skyscrapers; promises of a new day shone brighter than ever right before the sun slept. The air was contaminated with industry- chlorine, sewage waste, spent motor oil- everything to desolate your lungs, rendering you in a fit of desperate coughing, gagging, spitting. The frozen ground, concrete, was blanketed with blackened snow, sludge, clung to hide boots, leaving their mark upon the forgotten paths of men. It was miserable, it was raining, trying to snow, but falling short two degrees. Mix the rain with the snow, and you create hell.  
  
'Do you know where this is going?'  
  
Unfortunately.  
  
The creature bundled in a long coat twice the size of itself wandered the steel valley that is Devil's City. Ankle-length gray thorns, mocking bangs, stood stiff against the ruthless wind, wind that tattered the tails of his coat, and swayed the mammoth buildings on their foundation, refused to move more than necessary, resulting in splicing its legs, leaving a scarlet letter of blood to follow back. Its face, green, hid behind the upturned collar, but eyes black as rich soil shown through as he walked to oblivion.  
  
It stops. Pointed ears prick up through short, real hair. It turns around. Behind it hovers the infamous being that is Piccolo, arms crossed in usual fashion; sorrowful anger leaks through the cold exterior, barely. His violet fighting gi clings to his legs, paper white cape flaps behind him like angel wings, turban bound in coarse white cloth is the only stationary thing on him besides his face.  
  
Seemingly eons pass by in the time they stood facing each other. People finally abandon the streets when the sun sets from view, so it begins-the silent conversation. Piccolo touched down. Another eon passes. He takes steps in what seem to be slow motion to the creature. They stand face-to- face, eye-to-eye, just looking, arguing.  
  
The sun peeks over the edge of the horizon. They still stand there. Civilians waken and start their morning routine. Faucets, showers, and coffee pot join the users in rising to life. Sound of city life surround the two.  
  
The sun is climbing into the sky; businessmen walk past them, taking no notice of the unspoken message that would decide their fate.  
  
Sunshine luminates the giant clock downtown. Seven o' clock exactly. The streets are flooded with workers of all races, creeds, and times, trying to survive for the good of the colony.  
  
At long last the creature turns to leave, attempting to get lost in the crowd. A hand stops him, nearly begging him not to go. He turns back for the last look. Piccolo's eyes soften ever so slightly, stern manner dulled, he is not angry, nor maleficent, nor vengeful, but broken. It cocks it head to the side in confusion. This unnamed emotion, so new, so alien, burns and quenches at the same time.  
  
Love.  
  
Love from father to son. Unbreakable. Underestimated. Timeless  
  
It slaps the hand off and staggers backward, ready to run. Another hand replaces it on the wrist. Piccolo's eyes fall to the ground, then glance back up at the creature, the son.  
  
It can't be like this. The silent words spill out as Piccolo opens his mouth when it jerks free.  
  
It can't be like this.  
  
It. . .can't. . .be.  
  
The creature bundles itself in its coat and walks off into the crowd, eventually becoming a blur in the past among the crowd. Piccolo stands there, motionless, anguish plaguing him, unable to express his emotion. Unable to save his child.  
  
When everyone left the streets, the buildings closed, the lights fade, he turned to the west and walked into the sunset. "Merry Christmas" he whispered.  
  
This felt like the right place to end.  
  
Completed 9/23/03 


	2. Death of a Friend

Disclaimer: I do not own DBZ or related products.  
  
Story told from someone's point of view, I'll let you decide who.  
  
It's a funny thing.  
  
Life.  
  
You live it. . .but never stop to enjoy it till you're dying. Heh, wouldn't you know it?  
  
Touching his wound like it was a fragile porcelain vase he ran his long, slender fingers over the pit where leather skin and concrete muscle had once lain.  
  
Fickle almost. Life just slips away.  
  
Blood trickled off the tips of his fingers, making a shallow 'plunk' noise in the water far below where he hang. He touched his injury again, this time mustering enough courage to prod at it a little. As he withdrew his hand, Jell-o-like mush came out with it.  
  
He smirked.  
  
Figures.  
  
A sharp pang struck him in the chest, rendering him unable to breath. His throat clenched then released, clenched and released, this process continued several times; each time his lungs pleaded for air that would not come.  
  
So, this is how it ends?  
  
The great warrior dies because of his. . .  
  
Yeah, that's right.  
  
Knew that would get me down sometime.  
  
The awesome sound of lightning struck above him, so near it was deafening, so far it was inaudible. The war-torn sky swirled in fury, gray sky, black, polluted clouds twisting, binding in anger, ready to pour down their acid wrath upon those who dare upset it. Lightning stuck again, this time hitting an abandoned old hover car, whose paint had long since worn, whose tires and battery vanished ages ago. Rats scuttled out, running as fast as their tiny legs would carry them. Inevitably, one of them fell in the giant water-filled crater that -he- reside in, dying instantly upon landing head first among the jagged rocks and curled metal.  
  
You and me both.  
  
You and me both.  
  
The top of City Hall was just visible from beneath the earth. It was burning, entire right side up in resilient orange flame. The sky, threatened by the ever-growing threat, unleashed its hate in a reverberating roar, shattering the ground, pounding the world with tears of frustration. The water of life spilt across his heaven-turned face, rolling down his forehead, over his eyebrows, past the side of his nose to his cheek.  
  
He smiled.  
  
Yes, today is a good day. . .  
  
The fire died out, but in that death, a harmony of embers, each one with their own spirit arose from it, breathing new life in every inch it rose. The rain extinguished most, but the few lived on, on their journey to everlasting life. In the end only one survived, and the people who saw it will forever say it was the brightest one of all.  
  
.to die. 


	3. Letter 1, failure 4

Letter 1  
  
855 East Nowhere  
Providence, South Division  
May 5, 776 AD  
  
Dear Cold Hearted Bastard,  
  
I know it isn't easy raising a child, believe me, I had had my own share of trouble in the subject, but please try to under stand, he's a kid! He's not a seasoned warrior ready for battle, he's not a student, and he's your son! Your son! Not sure whether you realize this or not, but you cannot treat him like everyone else. He is a child, not a tool of war, I could care less what the company said, he's a living, breathing being, that means he can feel, unlike you.  
I saw him yesterday when I was on my way to the city. He was standing there in a forest clearing, staring into oblivion, and letting a dog maul him. MAUL! What kind of half-baked parent are you? Didn't you even teach him to do something? Furthermore where did you go? You can't leave a kid, especially one as young as him, to fend for himself. HE'S TWO, HE NEEDS YOU, WHAT WERE YOU THINKING, DO YOU WANT HIM TO DIE?  
Sadly, that was not all I found. You haven't even taught him to talk, or did you rip out his cords so he couldn't? I was starting to trust you after all these years, even so much as accept you as part of the family, but this, this is outrageous! He doesn't know how to do anything but breathe, walk, and carry things from one place to another. Speaking of walking, he can barely do that now since the dog snapped a bone. I blame you for that, had you been thinking, he would not even have gotten hurt, now would he?  
The kid's staying with Gohan tonight, if you want to get him, I'm sure he'll tell you the same as I. If it were up to me you would never see that boy again! Don't think I didn't see the scars that were already on him, not to mention the new ones he got because of your incompetence! He's going to be scarred for life, in more ways that one! I hesitate to think what you could have done to him up there in those mountains, but whatever it was, congratulations, IT WORKED! He's terrified at the mention of your name (possibly the ONLY thing you taught him), he will not eat, drink, or sleep, ever. For crying out loud, he CRINGES when we talk about you. If I ever find out you abused that poor boy, I'll kill you. He may look like a monster, but I will not allow him to become one by staying with you! The kid's got a good soul, and I will be on you for the rest of your natural life if you try to take that away from him! You already broke his spirit; the only thing he has got left is his soul!  
I can't stand it-you. You, what do you think you are? You hurl a baby out into the battlefield and expect him to fight? I was ready to tolerate your attitude; even your stern looks you passed my way, but practically lining up kids to die- that's even below you! I said it once before, and I will say it again, you are a demon. There is no denying that. You are your father's son.  
I hated you when I began this letter, but now I just pity you. You had no right to hurt him, but you did. You beat up a two year old, how brave, how courageous. Then you abandoned him in the middle of nowhere to die, again, how brave. On top of all that, you never came back; I waited in that spot where I found him for over three hours to see if you would come, you didn't. I'm starting to wonder if you even care anymore. If you did not want the child, you could have given him back, but just to leave him alone, Kami, that's cold. You better have a damn good reason for that. People, even demons, would not leave their young unguarded without a purpose.  
I'll do the reasonable thing and try to understand what you are going through, raising a child, but I doubt it will help any. I'm not afraid of you anymore, and I will defend all that I have said to the grave. All I have to hope now is that you can read.  
  
Sincerely,  
Mrs.---  
  
A/N: I had to get off a chapter I'm writing before I have a mental breakdown and start sacrificing the firstborn sons again. This is a letter from a mystery person, could be anyone; I'll let you decide whom. The child being spoken about shall go unnamed. I already know this 'thing' sucks, but I had fun writing it, so I don't care, it's all good. I have nothing against any characters of DBZ.  
  
Disclaimer: I do NOT own DB/DBZ/DBGT or related products 


	4. skip this

How could you do that?  
  
Abandon your child like that?  
  
I knew you faught,  
  
But did you see,  
  
How hard he tried to please you.  
  
How hard he tried to gain your acceptance.  
  
Kami, even Vegeta agrees,  
  
You know how much he hates him.  
  
Open your eyes,  
  
Do you see what you have done?  
  
You crushed him,  
  
In more ways than one.  
  
It disturbs me.  
  
How could you be like that?  
  
You are not that person anymore,  
  
You were not to me,  
  
And you should not be to him.  
  
I tell him not to give up,  
  
But he just stares right through me,  
  
To you.  
  
What did you do to him?  
  
What did he do to you?  
  
He made you cruel,  
  
As you him.  
  
Please hear this,  
  
Please end it,  
  
For me,  
  
For you,  
  
For him.  
  
Your friend, ---  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own DBZ  
  
Another attempt to defeat Writer's block. 


	5. poem2

How could you do that?  
  
Abandon your child like that?  
  
I knew you faught,  
  
But did you see,  
  
How hard he tried to please you.  
  
How hard he tried to gain your acceptance.  
  
Kami, even Vegeta agrees,  
  
You know how much he hates him.  
  
Open your eyes,  
  
Do you see what you have done?  
  
You crushed him,  
  
In more ways than one.  
  
It disturbs me.  
  
How could you be like that?  
  
You are not that person anymore,  
  
You were not to me,  
  
And you should not be to him.  
  
I tell him not to give up,  
  
But he just stares right through me,  
  
To you.  
  
What did you do to him?  
  
What did he do to you?  
  
He made you cruel,  
  
As you him.  
  
Please hear this,  
  
Please end it,  
  
For me,  
  
For you,  
  
For him.  
  
Your friend, ---  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own DBZ  
  
Another attempt to defeat Writer's block. 


	6. Rambling of a Fool

The incoherent Thoughts of a Young Seven Point Five.  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own DBZ of related products.  
  
I'm losing it again. You're playing on my mind. . .My soul. . . Every part of my being is yours. . .you bought me. . .You bought me like a worthless doll. That's what I am. . .Right? A mere puppet used to entertain. . .Yes. . .That's it. They paint me with my blood; make me dance with steel chains. They control me. . .My mind, my body. . .And you my precious own me. I'm yours to use as you will. . .Never.  
  
You will never use me, you will never tame me, I will never be you. Never be you. I see the ways your friends look at me. Do you think I am blind? I can see for myself the undoubting hatred and fear they have for me. And you. . .You praise them for it. . .Why?  
  
Am I so useless that you don't even bother to look at me anymore? I am, aren't I. I'll prove you wrong. . .I will. You'll see. . .YOU'LL ALL FUCKING SEE!. . . heh. . .See what I wonder? The anger of a bonded fool? Yes, perhaps they will. It drives me mad it does. The emptiness of this all. This little mind game. . .It tears into my flesh, burrowing deeper into my ice heart with ever breath I take. You couldn't know. . .You couldn't possibly know what I'm talking about, could you. I wouldn't expect you to anyway. You think I'm a child, an innocent who knows nothing, sees nothing, hears nothing. . .Peh. . .You and this plastic world of yours, so fake, so real, like a flawed illusion; one that entraps the body and feast on the rhythm of your thoughts.  
  
Glass torso.  
  
Beauty. Some say it belongs in the minds eye of the beholder. . .Or something to that effect. What is beauty to you? Is it the peace of the spring river, blooming back into life after the frozen winter wasteland melts away into days past? Or is it the slaughter and brutality of war, the decaying bodies on your beloved battlefield, the taste of fresh blood on your lips. . .I'll never know will I? It's another one of your cruel games. Keep me guessing till our time is spent and we have little more to do than sit in whitewashed room and waste, waste away eternity. Sounds like something you'd do. . .  
  
Do you lust for me to be like you. You refuse to answer me. Refuse to listen to me. Refuse to acknowledge my presence. I've gotten use to that. . .I have. . .really. It makes no difference to me whether you see me or not. What does it matter? You own me; I'm always going to be there. . .Who cares if you see me now as long as I'm here. . .Do you even care if I exist?  
  
You left me. . .You left me to die. . .How could you? What did I ever do? Was it the way I look? I can't help. . .it. . .I CAN'T HELP IT DAMNIT! I DIDN'T ASK FOR THIS I'M NOT YOUR PERFECTION! I'm not yours! I'm not yours. . .Not yours. Don't call me that.  
  
I'm calm. I'm balanced. I have no anger, nor jealousy, nor love. I don't need to hang onto these anymore. They are human. . .I'm not one of them. . .What am I?  
  
Blood tears.  
  
What's this? Something new? Yes. . .I believe it is. . .Interesting indeed. . .It fell from me- my eyes. Did I do it? If so, how? I've never done that before. . .Can I do it again? It runs down my cheeks, it's comforting, like rain, like fire. Why does it do this?  
  
This chilling, this cooling, this void in my chest. My throat goes numb. . .I don't know why. All of this is happening too soon. Cold sweat forms on my brow. . .Why is this happening? Am I causing this by my thoughts? I can control my body like this? He can't control me the way I am now. . .Can he? Is this his doing?  
  
He rides my thoughts, steals my breath, relaxes my body, pulls taut my mind, destroys my sanity, restores my strength, robs me of my immortality, teaches my mortal ways.  
  
He is perfection. . .Perfection. . .He does no wrong. He is incapable of being squandered, unable to look upon the unworthy. . .Now I'm unworthy, great. . .I was never worthy of his gaze anyway, what am I trying to convince myself of? I am exhausting my grace doing this. . .Maybe today will be the day he chooses. . .Maybe not. . .Only he knows when he'll return. I can hear him already. . .In the back of my mind. He's whispering to me. He wants me. . .Why?  
  
Unnecessary contamination.  
  
I ruined him. I ruined him, he breaks me, I linger, he fades, I grow older, he grows younger. We cancel eachother out in the end. We cannot exist side by side. I wish it were not so. I love you. . .There's that word. The killer. Love. To what purpose does it serve? It makes you weak, causes pain. . .And yet, pain is weakness leaving the body. . .Nothing makes sense. I can't tell up from down, left from right. My world is collapsing upon itself in a wonderful, horrible implosion. . .It's better than the sweetest morphine, the most toxic drug.  
  
Yes, cause me pain, rip me to shreds, use me, beat me, burn me, callous me, KILL ME! Ease my suffering, show me mercy, be generous, be crude. Just stop your game, I can't take it anymore! You're all I think about! You're all I know. I blame you for myself. . .I blame you, I curse you, I maim you for what you are, for what you created me from. Without you life would be a joyous sin!  
  
I can see you among the clouds. I can't tell you the color of your skin, the magnificence of the sky you dwell in. I don't even know the gentle touch of your hand on my face. All I can feel of you is the venom you spit at me, the sting of your vinegar spit upon my face. People call you the Daemon King. They don't know you, do they?  
  
Assumptions.  
  
I assume you can see me now. Wait, I'm inferior. You couldn't see me if you tried. Today isn't the day.  
  
You touch down on the lush grass. . .Green? What is green? What makes it different from red, blue, violet? WHY CAN'T I TELL THIS?  
  
Your every step sounds in my head, clearer than a thousand dawns. I look up to you. You walk along in your glory, your perfection. How can you do this to me?! It's agony, pure, undiluted agony you cast upon me ever time I see you.  
  
You pass. I'm behind you. Still staring where you were not a second ago. Your scent is still in the air. Flowers. . .roses and tulips. . .How do I know what that smells like. . .I don't even know what a rose is. You never told me, you won't allow me to see for myself. It must not be important. . .Or is it. . .Time will tell.  
  
You continue walking. Slowly, I turn to see you. You never looked back. . .Did you? Not even so much as a glance? WELL WHY DON'T YOU JUST TRODE OVER ME. I'LL PUT UP A SIGN 'WALK ALL OVER ME BASTARD' MAYBE THEN YOU'LL NOTICE ME!!!!!!!!!!!  
  
Heh. . .Throwing a fit again. How immature, childish. I don't blame you for not looking down. You're too good for that. I wouldn't want to disturb you with my ugliness. . .God forbid I do that. . .Forbid it for me. . .Please.  
  
Rage, malice, peace, remorse.  
  
I don't need those either. I'm making good progress. I don't need any of these silly human things. He doesn't need them, why should I? It's a long road ahead of me. I have nothing before me, nothing behind. . .Is that a trace of perfection on me, a clean spot on my bruised, beaten skin? I believe it is. . .Interesting.  
  
He's gone. I lost him again. . .I didn't even get to say goodbye. . .I don't need rage or malice, what am I suppose to feel now? Remorse. . .oh. . .I can't feel that either now. . .I'll feel nothing. . .Like him. Yeah. . .I'll just stand here and not do anything. . .Not feel anything. . .Not be anything. . .  
  
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . I. . . . . . . . . . . . . Can't. . . . . . . do. . . . thissss  
  
I'm not like this. I'm not blank. I'm not perfect; I don't know what I am.  
  
I run after you, peeking through ever room, moving every barrier, breaking every shield. Just let me speak to you once more. I'll never ask for anything else if you give me this. Please. . .I'm begging, lowering myself for all to see, let me do this!  
  
Into the deepest corridors, below the highest attic, above the darkest dungeons. . .You're not there. You did this to me again. AGAIN! It's the same every time. . .You give me hope, then drown it for kicks. Bloodsucking bastard. . .I don't need these emotions. . .I want them gone. The guilt, the despair, the pride, the joy. . . I WANT THEM ALL GONE. . .That way I can kill you without feeling. . .Yes. . .That is what I've been longing for. . .To be rid of you. . .It's so simple, so delicate, how could I have overlooked it? My ignorance amazes me.  
  
I keep on searching. I see a room with its door shut. Fine mahogany, engraved with ancient border, meticulously carved in. . ..Beauty. My fingers brush upon the silver knob. I know you're in there. I can feel you in there. You dare to hide from me again?  
  
The door cracks open so I can see. You're sitting with one of your friends. One of the lineage of Son. You never told me what he is called. Did he get a number? A wry smile on my lips, a feeling of companionship. . . I should be rid of it now.  
  
My smile is replaced by a dull stare. You would ignore my being to sit with a friend on a down bed. . .Doing wonders for my esteem that it is. . .I withhold air from my body. I need not make a sound now, not until I find why he is important to you. . .More important than I. My vision blurs. The edges turn blacker than Indian ink. My sight still remains on you.  
  
Disease  
  
Your touch graces his chin, he looks at you, you at him. I feel. . .I don't. . .Know. . .Bitter? Possibly. . .But I keep on watching. He touches you back, on your chest. . .You won't let me touch you that way. . .You won't let me touch you at all. . .Your other hand runs through his hair, you pull him close. . .You're killing me from the inside. . .Why? Your lips lock, he falls limp on you. . .You embrace him tenderly. . .  
  
My breath is drawn hastily and in silence- I back against the wall, sliding down to the floor. "So, you choose his company over mine. . ." I manage to choke in-between the pounding in my head ". . .Then let my heart be turned to ice, my soul dyed blacker than the deepest reaches of Hell, my being be damned to a hollow shell. You'd love me then wouldn't you?" I place a hand over my heart. It beats with light speed, the energy of the sun. Mournfully I carve into my body with the claws you gave me- the shape of a heart over the one that beats. Blood seeps from the wound. I can't tell the color, just the tinge of cold over that spot. "So be it. . .If that's what it takes for you. . .Father. . ." 


	7. Forever

Forever  
  
"To regret one's own experiences is to arrest one's own development. To deny one's own experiences is to put a lie into the lips of one's life. It is no less than a denial of the soul."  
  
- Oscar Wilde, "De Profundis"  
  
"Forever he said. What is forever? I remember asking him that a long time ago. He never told me, only smiled that beautiful smile of his and stared at the sun-bathed beach. Those days had gone by to fast, leaving only memories stored in their wake." He sighed softly, yellow eyes being covered by pale olive lids. "He told me so many things, taught me the meaning of what life is. Cruelty, love, despair. I learned them all through him. That wonderful, horrible, evil little man." He chuckled softly and clenched the red plaid comforter around him; it's where he felt safest, where the past was hidden in him.  
He smiled faintly, white fangs just barely glistening in the fading light of the fire. His breathing slowed down, body utterly relaxed in that old chair. He was home. Home where the memories ended and life began and in the moments of peace, where he heard the gentle whisper of his fade away into darkness. Yes, this was his place; this is where he belonged, where he'd never leave.  
"You told me to wait. Wait till the end of time itself, wait till you got back, wait for eternity. I am waiting all of eternity for you, my eternity. I wish I could have proved I loved you, but did that mean I had to walk on water? Sometimes things aren't that simple, are they?"  
The fire's warm glow bathed the room in delicate light. All was deadly silent, lost to the nights' slumber, a true meaning to peace on earth. Sloping brick ceiling seemed to disappear to reveal the sky lingering high above. The walls convert to sand, crumble like dust with the lightest of breezes, the wooden floor given away to soil. As though the building in its whole masked itself in a cloak of time long since past, he could see the stars, constellation upon another, through closed eyes. The warmth of the entire planet seemingly looking down upon him, protecting him from harm, it wasn't enough. Not enough to replace the tender embrace he lost, not enough, not at all.  
"Father . . .What would I have to do? Into your hands I commended myself, into your hands surrendered my soul, my heart, my love to you. I lived in your house, lived by your law. Every morning for five years, I did nothing but pray. . .Pray to you to keep him here. You didn't. You did nothing. How can I believe in you when you let angels die?" A single white feather fell into his face, soft down, it came from him.  
Smile widening slightly, a short sigh before a feather clad hand picked it up, twiddling it between thumb and forefinger. Feathers on his arm, few and far in between, did not lack of the same dull claret color that the fallen one had. Amusing it was to him. Tilting his head back against the soft cushion of the chair, he sent the single feather adrift in the house.  
"I'm feeling so faithless. Lost under this all, this mess of me." He shook his head slowly, smiling still all the while. "I'm becoming less then what I am. Everything I believed is falling, falling right in front of me. Every second I waste is more than I can bare, deliver me, Father. Are you even listening to me?"  
Sound. The rain came, petering down, giving the loam living water to breathe, a soothing melody, sifting through tree branches, pinging on the mailbox, washing down from the roof onto a wooden porch. If you listened closely enough, you could almost hear the ocean roar far in the distance. His ears pricked up at the sound, ever present smile widening more and more.  
"Do you hear that D? It's raining. You use to love the rain so much." He chuckled quietly to himself. "I remember seeing you just standing in the rain, getting soaked to the bone, looking so peaceful, like the water was washing your sins away. . .I'd give anything to see you like that again. Just once more, I'll never ask for anything else if I could get that.  
Inside the fire cracked, tiny embers floating up from the source like little fireflies away from a gathering. Outside, rain assaulted the ground, the house, lone in the country held fast against nature for a hundred years and more. The country land maintained its glory through the passing of each dawn, unflawed, untouched by civilization, nothing but nature in its purest form.  
He looked through the stained glass window, a multitude of colors dimly shone through, rain streaking the surface of the glass. "It's wonderful, is it not?" He stops, waiting for an answer that would not come.  
Hesitantly, he sheds his cover, standing up. Evident now, head to toe. Feathers covered his body; mostly fluffy red down nowadays, always was not the case. Fitting to his plumage, a small set of wings followed behind him. In no shape or form were they for anything more than décor. Yet under this all, though barely evident, laid skin the color of olive, remnants of a heritage long since lost. Scuffing to the sliding glass door, he peers out, nose and palms pressed against the glass  
"You wouldn't want me to be like this, would you? Missing you every waking moment, mourning you? No. . .You'd hate me for that." He winces involuntarily at his statement. "I can't help it. I miss you so much; you just left without saying goodbye. How am I not supposed to miss you?"  
Thunder rumbled in the distance, a soothing growl to him. The sky, now painted with deep ocher, maroon, splashed with magnificent yellows and pinks – a masterpiece among itself. His eyes closed yet again. The colors themselves reminded him of his love, the way they blended together so perfectly, so completely.  
"I wish you could see this. I know you hate the way I go on about nature, but it's different this time. Don't say something's not beautiful unless it has a five star hotel and world-class Hooters girls. You're wrong. . .How did I ever fall for you? We're so different, so much the same. Well, opposites attract, I guess."  
Pushing the door aside, he stepped outside. Water stained the wood a darker shade of brown, still dry patches remained if you looked hard enough. He stood, arms hugging themselves for warmth, wings splayed to their fullest. The boards on which he stood creaked as he shifted his weight, stepping forth to peek beyond the extended porch. A magnolia tree hindered his view, branches gracing the old shingles of the roof. He looked forward to it blooming again; he loved the color of the blossom, loved seeing them flutter to the ground before they fell. He always lamented the coming of fall, winter even more so, the time of their arrival meant the death if all that is green and fruitful, replaced by barren branches and ice glazed ground; and it would be eons before the next flower budded and showed its face. Then again, it was in those months he had the time to stay inside, watch children frolic in the leaf piles, throw snowballs at each other, he always looked forward to it.  
"Remember the kids D? How they use to love pestering ya, then run away real fast, giggling to themselves?" He chuckled at that, remembering all too well. "You use to get so mad at them, then I had to hold you back to stop you from murdering those poor things."  
He stepped down the wooden stairs, one hand brushing over the mahogany railing, feeling the fine Celtic carvings upon it. Water pounded with the fierceness of a raging river upon him, stinging his eyes. The formerly dry pajama pants he had been wearing now were soaked in that little time, the royal shade of blue deepening considerably with each new drop added. His uncovered chest was getting beat to a pulp, feathers sticking to him like glue. His bare feet trod upon the wet ground, leaving a trail of four-toed footprints wherever he went. He made his way over to the tree, tracing his fingers on the surface of the bark, getting a feel for the texture. Memories of climbing this tree's branches like a spider monkey flying back to him at light speed, memories of falling out and breaking his back also returning. With the innocence of a child gleaming in his eyes, he looked up to the branch in arms reach him. Somehow he remembered the magnolia tree being a lot taller, bigger than the old oak growing in the grove. He shrugged that thought off and grabbed onto the branch, folding his legs in, swinging himself back and forth, back and forth.  
"I haven't done this in ages, not since I disturbed that bees' hive when I was fifteen. Heh. Haven't really touched this plant since, was terrified that I'd mess something else up. No wonder you called me a chicken wuss. I think the only reason I remember it, was. . .Yeah, you gave me that evil little birds and bees talk. You made fun of me the entire time. You and your bird jokes" He laughed, remembering all the innuendos he had thrown at him every waking moment back then  
Letting himself slip off the branch, he headed out to the knoll past the wire fence that separated his land from the farmers'. The one thing he could not stand was that fence, it was not like the neighbors really cared if he pranced around the outskirts of their territory, as long as he didn't go into their crop, they could not care less. Time was, everything within fifty miles of here belonged to his family, it was never much to brag about, this land being all plains and valley, but it was theirs no matter.  
Climbing over the wire, careful not to tear the delicate soles of his feet to shreds on any barbs, he wondered idly to himself why he never discussed tearing the blasted thing down with the family who lived across the way. Now, established on the other side, he took the liberty of flopping over on his back and rolling on the grass. If anyone caught him, highly doubtful, he'd break down laughing. He could imagine how silly he looked doing this, but who cared; it had been too long since he enjoyed the fragments of childhood he managed to grasp onto. Blades of grass stuck in his feathers, clumps of dirt imbedded in his wings, rocks jabbing him in the sides. Most people would have considered it cruel and unusual punishment, but not him. Stopping abruptly, he lay on his stomach, stretching out, then relaxing.  
"You never seemed to like anything I did D. Me? I idolized you for years before you even noticed me" He snorted and put a hand on his forehead, giggling to himself. "You wouldn't believe some of the things I'd do to get your attention. When you threw that half-eaten box of chocolates at me, just so I'd shut up, I thought it was Christmas time." He shook his head in disbelief. "I counted that as the greatest day of my life then. Hoo boy. . ."  
Rolling onto his back, wings splayed out to the sides uncomfortably, he looked up at the never-ending sky again. No matter how many times he looked, it was never the same. Each time, something was new, he couldn't tell you what, even have the slightest grip on it, but he knew something was different. Something was always different. He closed an eye, extending his arm to grab for the North Star. Somehow that was the first one he always managed to find, and it was always there for him. Call it flaky, even psychotic, but when no one else was around to talk to, he found conversation in the heavenly bodies themselves. Things had been like this for as long as he was allowed to gaze upon the outside world.  
"I don't get you D. . .Derrick. You always kept me confused, always kept me away from you when I wanted to be close, held me tight when I wanted away. You were my enigma, my reason to live. . .Now that you're gone, what am I going to do? You said you'd come back. You promised. I'm still here. . .Have you forgotten me?" His normal smile dimmed as he thought about that. "You can't have forgotten me. No. Never. . .Could you? Mrhh. . ." He sat up, knees pressed firmly against his chest. "If I was a better person, you would have stayed with me, wouldn't you?" He sighed and pushed himself to his feet, brushing off his pants, flapping his wings, shaking loose some of the debris that had gathered in them.  
He walked, head tilted up, all of him was focused on the blue. All too well he knew where he was going, the little patch of fruitless trees in the middle of the plain. He use to go there all the time with him, but not anymore, not since he left. Things never seemed that important anymore, everything he had loved slipped away into darkness.  
The beating rain lessened in intensity, now merely a spring shower away from the anger it seemed to have possessed earlier. Still, thunder cackled, the occasional lightning strike jumped from cloud to cloud, like it was running away from home. Closing his eyes, shutting out everyone, he wandered on, drowning in himself. His thoughts drifted in and out of reality, patches of his life were scrambled together. He remembered growing up, the first time he met Derrick, the kindness, and the cruelty, the hatred and the obsession. Trace hints of a smile crept upon heart-shaped lips.  
"Too long has it been since I've seen you, D. . .Far too long. Do you know I never stop thinking about you? Ever? If you did, would you have left me still?"  
The ashen sky darkened, still thunder could be heard growling overhead, the spring showers were still awaiting their welcome, clawing away from winter's icy grasp. Cautiously, as though afraid, he cracked open his lids, fair golden eyes scanning the sky lackluster. Willow branches draped down, wanting to touch the ground, some with the appearance of avaricious fingers sprouting from withered hands, others starting anew, sharing their blossoming leaves to all who had eyes to see. The blue grass sparkled with droplets of water upon them, adding to the completeness of the scene.  
A single moss-covered log resided amidst the rising shade provided by the trees. Coming to rest on his knees, a meager distance between him and the fallen tree. Like everything else, he reached to touch the bark, fingertips brushing over patches of moss, even the occasional mushroom or two. As everything else in this world, he connected this moment with his past, fond memories sweetened life for him. He closed his eyes another time, savoring the cracks of his childhood years he spent, the softness of the grass that use to be, and the swift breeze that always managed to drift his way on the hottest of summer days. Such was life.  
Almost remorsefully, he put his hands on his knees and pushed himself up. He was sated for this day well spent. T'was his day, his day for remembrance of a childhood lost and a lover granted, an anniversary of sorts.  
"I'm not going to cry for you D. I've spent so much of my time doing no more than mourning you. I wasted the best years of my life- all for you. . .I'm twenty-five D. . .Practically middle-aged as far as my creed goes." He hung his head, scratching it was a hand. Two pale red feathers, tinted in white floated down from him. "You see that?! I'm going hoary and bald already. . .Well. . .I guess Ill be leaving. You said one day you'd meet me in this place. . .And I shall always be here to find you.  
Putting his hand in the air, waving it in such a fashion as to say 'goodbye', he paused, looking back* A small patch of red peeked through a minute hole in the bark, although tiny, it caught his eye immediately as if luring him in to see, to reveal what is was. Crouching down another time, he inched close to the log, placing his hands on either side of the hole; squinting his eyes, lips slightly parted, he silently whispered 'what is this. . .?'. It took him a few minuets before he dared to pull aside enough matter to touch the opening, with the softest touch of his fingers, most of what had been there collapsed.  
A smile brighter than a thousands sunrises was set on his face. Carefully, as though not to bruise the thing inside, he slid his fingers over it hesitant to pick it up, lest he ruin its beauty. From within he drew a single red rose, more brilliant than rubies, petals softer than the finest of silks. He brought is to his nose, sniffing it, becoming ever more lost in the sweet aroma. He did not bother to wonder why it was there, cut and primped as it had been, it was of no matter to him, it was all too fitting for the day to make him care.  
Mellifluous footsteps approached slowly, loving arms born in black satin, taut with muscle wrapped around him tenderly, caressing him like he was a teddy bear, an object of his affection. He leaned back into the chest of the man, flower still pressed to his nose, but the smooth scent of fresh aftershave still managed to reach his nose.  
"It took you long enough to find that damn flower, Seif'." A pleasant voice, edging baritone, smooth as velvet whispered with more softness and love than many have yet to see.  
"It took you long enough to come back D. . .Where were you?" His voice was shaky, about to crack any second now. Tears lined his eyes as his entire body trembled in. . . Joy?  
"I was in the place where all dreams go." He said it jokingly, squeezing Seifer's sides to get that point across. An instant later he rested his head upon a feathered shoulder, planting butterfly kisses along his neck, spreading to his jaw line.  
"Not funny. . ." Letting the rose away from his face, he swiftly turned around to face the man ". . .Derrick. . .Not funny at all." He took the liberty of hugging Derrick back in return, though he dug his claws into the man's side to emphasize that he was miffed.  
Derrick chuckled light-heartedly and looked down into Seifer's eyes; a smirk crept onto his features at the sight of those yellow gems gleaming with vibrant life- just as he had remembered. "You earned that, lover boy." The smirk on his face turned into a full-fledged grin at the look on Seifer's face as he pouted from the response.  
". . .Meanie. . ." He nudged Derrick's shoulder with his head affectionately, rubbing his cheek on the fabric of his shirt. "Always there to burst my soap bubble..." His shaking stopped, although his voice was as cracked as could be.  
Their eyes met and held steady, Derrick's piercing emerald ones into Seifer's doughy yellows. They pulled into each other; lips barely away from each other were shy to touch.  
The two stood there in silence. The soothing prairie breeze sifted through the trees, blowing the vine-like branches out of kilter, had anyone been looking close enough, it would seem like they were focusing around the people in their track. Morn gave away to afternoon, still they stood together. Embracing one another like they would never be together again.  
The time came.  
"How long will you love me, D?"  
"I'll love you forever"  
". . .How long is forever?"  
"Forever's not long at all."  
Lips came together deftly, scarcely to be called a kiss, however more passion remained in the action than could be written in a thousand volumes. The kiss grew in intensity, not harsh, nor in the least strong, just filled with devotion, love, passion, something that would last. . .Forever. 


	8. Leatherface

The dimly lit room was in itself a veritable hell. The pungent odor of bleach and raw sewage filled the cavity. It was a wonder that the place could even support some kind of life, given its current condition. The lights flickered on and off as they always did here. When the lights were steadily on for a few moments, you could easily see the concrete walls splattered with feces and blood. Animal blood. Human blood. Blood of everyone and everything that passed through the threshold. A single wooden desk was set in the middle of the room. A single wooden chair accompanied it. A single figure resided in the single chair by the single desk in the single room with the single door. Nothing about this place seemed in the least appetizing. So much as being in there could give you an uneasy feeling of malice hidden in the very floor boards themselves. Many people had come to this place for one reason or another, and many people had come to their end here- through him.  
  
He looked skyward to the concrete ceiling, crystal blue eyes bloodshot and red from sleep deprivation and tears. He was obviously young, no more than fifteen or so, though the last few days seemed to have aged him into his mid twenties, a dreadful happening. Skin the color or pale lime was blemished by iodinated salt and blood, a most unappealing combination. Piles of cut hair surrounded his body. Silver colored hair the better part of six feet in length was brutally hacked off at varying angles, more like butchery than anything else. A soft, wavering sigh escaped chapped lips. Other than that, he remained oddly quiet, not even daring to take deep breaths, lest he make a sound. Scared. Terrified more like it. To anyone who was close enough, they could see him shaking gently, in fear of anything or one that might be close to him.  
  
A trembling skeletal hand brushed over a shallow cut on his arm. A cut that was discolored and cured in salt soon after it was inflicted, making it sting more than it had originally. Bony fingers rubbed over the cut, making it bleed ever so slightly; it was a purely unintentional thing.  
  
Looking to the left, then to the right, he hesitantly rose to his feet, ready to sit back down if even the least noise was made. Wringing his hands together, a dead giveaway that he was nervous, he inched toward the desk. His tattered white undershirt was barely fit to cover him anymore; it was far too stained and abused to ever be worn again. His blue jeans were loose on him, as they always had been; they however, were in better condition than he himself was. His hand graced the desk's smooth mahogany surface, gripping the edge like it was a lifeline; he would not be letting go anytime soon if he could avoid it. Again, he looked from left to right, making damn sure that -he- of all people was not watching him from afar, without a doubt, the consequences were more than he was able to handle at this time. Taking another step towards the desk, his feet suddenly lost their traction, sending him crashing down to the floor, completely void of all elegance. Still, he held on to the edge of the table, claw-like hands plastered onto the wood.  
  
Grimacing at the noise, he laid there motionless, waiting for the imminent footsteps that spelled out his hell for him. Sure enough, they came, slowly and steadily, sounding like a mallet against a marble floor. The sound alone made him curl up into a pathetic, quivering little ball, he even managed to pry his fingers away from the one thing he was convinced he would hold onto till he found out how to get away from this place. The footsteps stopped a few inches away from his head, making him curl even tighter into himself. A whole new realm of pong joined in with the sewage and bleach aroma. A stink that can only be described to this day as death. The decay of everything good and fresh, traded in for rotting flesh and disease. He tried his hardest to convince himself to meet this person, this man in the eye, but it was like asking the blind to see, it would only happen by a miracle.  
  
A deep sigh escaped the man's nose as he stooped down to catch the boy by the nape and drag him unwillingly to his feet. It was unclear as to exactly how big the man was, but undoubtedly, he was well over six feet tall judging by the noise he was generating each time he took a step. Staying as dead weight, the boy was nearly too traumatized by the mere presence of the other man to resist, after all, resisting only caused pain, pain in which he would be the only one suffering thorough it. Long, pointed ears bent back, signaling disgust and irritation, his only sign of displeasure at the time.  
  
"What did I tell you?" A guttural bass voice scolded, you could almost feel the sense of pleasure the owner of the voice got out of maiming someone far younger and helpless than he.  
  
"To sit still. . ." A tenor voice answered back with a mouse-like disposure, the quaking of his voice was not readily hidden.  
  
"And what did you do?" The man brought his other arm around the boy's narrow chest cavity, making an attempt to squeeze the air out of him, or crush his ribs, one of the two if not both.  
  
"I did nothing." Stated crisply, decisively, a flicker of confidence in his voice. The negligible twitch of a smile shone upon his lips, as he refused to answer exactly the way he was expected.  
  
"Seven. . ." The word, rather the name was said in a demeaning tone. Less than a second after that, the boy's, Seven's neck was snapped back uncomfortably and held there. "That was not appropriate." The second phrase was spoken softly, not in an agitated accent, nor an irritable one.  
  
The arm across his chest jerked him backwards, pressing him bare chest to back with the man. A cold chill ran down his spine, something that happened each time he came into contact with another being. Hot breath embraced his neck and shoulder, causing all his muscles to tense. To him, this was as painful as any beating. He would rather be killed than have to endure much more; he had always had a dislike of touching and being touched, so this was no joyride. He felt the man's steady heartbeat; it was pounding like thunder in his chest. Fascinating, but unnerving.  
  
"Tell me what I want to hear." The voice runs through his ear and plays around in the back of his head, working its way up, like a headache. A piercing in his ear was tugged on a bit by the man, for the one and only reason of twiddling Seven's firmly planted abstinence to him  
  
"No." The reply came stubbornly and in haste. Seven had no second thoughts about his answer, no matter what it may get him into.  
  
Abruptly, Seven was spun around, forcing him face to face with the man. He could not help himself but the whimper slightly, not so much out of fright as it was at the appearance of the man himself. His face, the most striking of his feature was malformed, a ghastly sight. His eyes, a dark brown were deep set in his skull, giving him an almost demonic, if not ape-like look. A gaunt face matched the eyes, his features all protruding an disproportioned; cheekbones fit to tear through his flesh, jaw almost fit to chew nails, or at least that is what it appeared to Seven.  
  
"LeatherFace? . . ." Seven ask with a child's innocence, truly befuddled by the eyes peering back at him.  
  
A slight nod was given as an answer to the name, along with an unwanted hand tracing along his pointed ears. For a brief moment Seven narrowed his eyes at having his ears 'stroked', that was the one thing he hated most of all, and the called LeatherFace knew it.  
  
"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" The scent of stale alcohol was fresh on his lips; it seemed to waft from him as he spoke, a most unpleasant thing. "Aren't you, boy?" A slightly amused tone was added to his commonly monotonous bass voice.  
  
". . .No. . ." Seven shifted his weight restlessly; indolently he moved his hand to LeatherFace's shoulder, in a vain attempt to try and push away from him, no such success.  
  
A minor grin spread across LeatherFaces's lips, amused by the young boy's actions. "Not all of you agrees." He tempted to move one of his hands to a most unwanted place, just to see what kind of response he could get.  
  
If it was at all possible to glare daggers into someone, Seven was doing so now. No sense of humor or even sportsmanship remained, just bitterness and unspoken antagonism. "That is nothing to joke on." Spoken just in time for a light purple flush to set in.  
  
"Is it?" He leaned into Seven smoothly and grabbed his leg a few inches above the knee and hauled him a ways off the ground like he was nothing but a feather. He took his other hand and reestablished it around His back, pinning them together for the time being. "I always thought you loved the things I've done for you- while you were sleeping."  
  
Seven made no verbal reply, just looked at Leatherface like he was the absolute lowest scum-sucking life form on the planet, a look he seldom gave to anyone but his father. He bent his neck back, looking again to the ceiling in a split second of disbelief before coming to the conclusion that he should have known it all along. "You would, wouldn't you?" Uttered in a bothered tone of voice.  
  
Only a smile cam in reply, that said it all.  
  
"Just get it over with already. You know you want to." Seven sighed, his body seemingly drained of its luster.  
  
"Ask again."  
  
A twitch of a snarl crept upon his features. "Do it."  
  
"Not until you beg for me."  
  
"I'll beg when Hell freezes over."  
  
"Consider Hell frozen."  
  
Disclaimer: The entire work of the Dragonball series is Copyright to their respectful owner of which I am not part of. 


	9. No One's

Disclaimer: I hold no legal rights to the DragonBall series, nor do I in any way hold rights to the lyrics that are present in this work of fiction, they are Copyright to the band Amaran. However, I do hold all legal rights to reproduce this in anyway I see fit, and the character of Seven Point Five is also Copyrighted to me.  
  
I Am No One's  
  
Here we are again, though we lost our mother's love  
  
Hear me, touch me, feel me, hold me, I am so alone  
  
There's nothing here for me anymore. I can't even hear them. Hear them breathing in the peaceful bliss of eternal sleep. Hear them moan as they are ravaged again and again and again. It's empty here, with only the stink of rotten flesh to keep me company. I wonder to myself what it would have been like if you never saw me. If you and I had never met. If you hadn't gone and fucked up my entire life. . .No, I guess that would be no way to live, no way to live at all. . . Heh, like you said, "You're nothing without me." Damn. . .I never realized how profound that statement was until now. And you were right, you were, I can admit that. I just wish you would have beaten some sense into me and made me see just how right you were. Just how right you ALWAYS were and how WRONG I always am. ALWAYS. I hate you for it. I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.  
  
Never will I know when it's over, maybe it's over now  
  
Is it too late to turn around?  
  
You were beautiful. You were an angel. My angel, I should have been grateful. But, I wasn't, I was the shithead teenager as you so wonderfully put it. I was the remnant, I was the scar, I was the product of your imperfection, I was nothing to you. Nothing at all, just a blemish that needed to be removed. I still hate you for your words. And you still don't give a shit. . .Did you know I still love you for it? No, you wouldn't. You hated me more than I did you. Probably because I wanted to be myself, I wanted to be separate from you. And couldn't figure out why. Damn you.  
  
Even if I could understand your decisions your demands  
  
You would never let me save you  
  
Sometimes I wished we could have been a normal family. You could have been the respected and loving father, caring, but strict, dignified, but not afraid to love his children. And I. . .I could have been the son. The screw up son that made all the stereotypical mistakes and tried to cover them up before you'd notice, trying to be perfect for you. But guess what? I was that son, and I personally know that I was a good son at that. I did what you wanted without question. I was respectful. Never once did I challenge you. I went by with everything you said without a second thought. And you dismissed that as nothing? I can't believe you. . .Any other parent would have sold their very souls for a kid as obedient as I was and you didn't even claim me as yours. I beg your pardon, but that's just insulting. . .  
  
We're only human with our eyes closed  
  
We're only children of the sun  
  
You made me question what it was to be human. Obviously, you were not exactly the best person to lecture me on the subject, but you made your point. I am not human. I will never be human. I don't even have the slightest idea of what a human is. Asshole, I was studying to be a doctor, I knew my shit on human anatomy, psychology, the works; just when I found my little speck of happiness in reading, what do you ever so cleverly do? Huh? Do you help me pay for the books? Hell no. Do you support me in my efforts to learn? Not a chance in hell. Lets see. . .What could you have possibly done. Oh yes, I remember now. . .You, oh loving father, purposely sent a fence post flying through the air and nailed me right in between the eyes. Thank you so much, it was a fan-fucking-tastic thing to do. Now, I'm three steps away from being a vegetable the rest of my life. And for what reason? To teach me something? To make your infamous point? To torment me. I don't know. You just ruined me. You ruined me dad. I can't do the one thing that I loved. You took away my ability to read. I was dyslexic. Reading was all I wanted to do my ENTIRE life, and when I finally do, you take it away. . .Why. . .You knew. You planned it. All. Along. I don't believe it. . .  
  
Come a little closer, little closer  
  
Hear me plead  
  
I heard you last night. You were watching me again. I use to think it was because you cared. Now I know I'm just some object, some thing to tantalize with your perfection. That's all I ever was, wasn't I? I remember you asking me long ago a question. I was five, and you were my hero. We were spending one of the few moments together when all was right with the world. There was no right or wrong, there was no time or space, or anything else for that matter. It was just you and me sitting in that grassy field. I may be blind, but that image of you is burned into my memory for all eternity, I'll never forget. You were meditating, the smell of fresh-cut grass was all over you like no tomorrow. Your cape was newly washed, it smelled like fabric softener, wild flowers. It was softer than the finest oriental silk. You gave me this look when I started rubbing my face against it. I knew you thought I was crazy, I thought you were mad. In that time, that short span of no more than ten minuets, you said the one thing that has made me who am I, the one thing that defined my character. "I'll always be there for you. Always and Forever." I know you'll never understand how much that single phrase meant to a scrawny five year old with nappy hair and limited potential, but I hoped I showed you what it meant to me. From that moment on, I did everything for you like what you asked was the most important thing in the entire universe, like life as we knew it would end if I did a single thing wrong. You gave me a reason. You were my reason for life dad, just wish I could have told you that. . .That you were my everything.  
  
Now we're still suffering and it ain't okay at all  
  
I can't believe we're so small  
  
I was a fool back then, I'm only a bigger fool now. You loved me, and I was stupid. Stupid. Stupid to think otherwise. I wish I could have proven how much I. . .I yearned. . .I strived to understand, to know, to be like you. But at the same time, I wanted to be myself, have my own personality, find what I am. I was you. I wish I had stayed the same now that you're not here. I could have been your future. Your contribution to the world after your time. Instead, you outlived me by a hundred years and more. I had you for all that time. . .I was devastated when you suddenly were gone. Gone. I hate that word. It's so empty, so blank. It's the opposite of what everything good and natural in this world is. You never told me that you could die. I mean, I knew that you would but. . .You never told me. No, you can't die, you couldn't. You were an angel. Angels don't die damnit. . .Angels don't die, they don't go away, they are never Not There. What kind of angel are you? You were always so big. . .Even when I was grown and well over your height, you were a giant. Huge. A stronghold, my refuge. Hard to believe I was so small compared to you. So small. . .  
  
Maybe it's the sound of pouring rain that we love  
  
Maybe it's the sound of running water  
  
I saw you today in my mind. Just a faint glimpse of you, your outline. I can't tell you the color, or even if there was any, but for that brief second I had my sight back, and I saw everything I ever wanted to see. You were smiling. Not a cruel smile filled with ill will or prejudice, but a smile sincere enough to give hope. Hope of life anew. Sadly, with every minuet of hope there is a lifetime full of pain and agony. Mine came in the split second vision of you. It wasn't enough. It didn't last long enough, I want it back. . .Give it to me. . . There's a sound. . .What is it? Is it rain? Smells like it. . .You loved the rain. At least I think you did. You use to stand in it all the time, take in the healing rain like it was sent from the cherubim themselves. Like I said, you were an angel. An angel of nature, the bringer of rain, the cleanser of my soul, savior of mine. Use to dream. Dream of water. Dream of drowning. You were always there to save me. Like you said, always and forever.  
  
Like the way that it feels on my skin, keep pouring  
  
What's your war about anyway  
  
It is raining outside. You can't hide that smell, so refreshing, unique, there is no other like it. It's always raining here, in this place. You'd love it here, it's wonderful, like you made the place yourself, crafted it meticulously just for you. Seems like something you would do. I was under the impression you were God most of the time anyway. Fitting. Since you died, I had no reason to go on. I admit it freely; I was reclusive for a number of years. I was afraid. I don't remember a time before then that I was truly afraid. Not even when I myself met an unfortunate demise was I afraid. Loosing you scared me. I was twenty-five years when I left, I've never changed. I'm still the kid I was when I was nineteen, fifteen, thirteen, and down. You still know me, but I don't know you anymore. Dad, if I can still call you that, I miss you. I looked on for years, searching for a way to meet you again, to feel the contour of your face, the soft lines that make up your expression. You were beautiful. You were all that I ever hoped to be. . .Maybe today I'll go in the rain, let it show how much of you lives in me. Would that make you proud?  
  
Don't close your righteous eyes, keep preaching  
  
You're not the only one anyway  
  
Try and change me into you  
  
Can you feel that through me? The constant tapping of a million tiny water droplets onto my face at once. I know you can. You're in that water, you're in the clouds, you're a part of the Earth. I should have been a part of you, should have been buried after I died. You wouldn't let them burn me, turn me into ash. You knew that I wasn't truly dead inside. You wouldn't kill me that way. Instead, you took me here; to this nowhere land, to your sanctuary. The lake, Devil's Lake if memory serves, you put me there to rest in the water. I could tell that meant something to you. It was always water. There have only been two instances in my life where I had faith. When you let go of me, let me sink into the abyss, that was the first time I believed that there was some force watching out for me. I don't care how cheesy or farfetched that may sound to everyone. I know what I felt. There is no greater feeling than The Love. It's what keeps me going. It's what's made me believe that I am alive today, even though my body thinks otherwise.  
  
I received a kiss from my maker's lips  
  
Inside frustrated, the sky was clear  
  
It's clearing out now. The showers have grown weak, barely even a sprinkle now. My clothes wear heavy, my hair weighs me down; feels like my mass increased ten fold. Marvelous. Soft footsteps sound behind me. I stiffen, being paranoid from life and my fair share of hardships. The steps stop for a moment before picking back up again, just as soothing and gentle as a lullaby, nothing rushed or chafed about them. It reminded me of how you use to walk. The noise stopped directly behind me. The whisper of a long, flowing garment caressed the wind, making it sing. Deep breaths came in and slowly, exited ones lungs, relaxing, mellow. Everything perfect. There's a minute change in the energy around me, it's suddenly stronger, warmer, pushing down on the ground. A hand touches my shoulder. Unsure of how to react, I stand there silently, waiting for the call. Something inside tells me I shouldn't worry, shouldn't fear, I should be at rest, like a dream state.. The hand grips on tighter, not uncomfortably so. I can feel the imprints of claws through my thin shirt, claws so like mine that had I not known better, I could have mistook them for mine own. Warm. It's warm, my body feels warm, void of the icy grip death keeps over my heart. I actually could have sworn I felt a heartbeat through all this. . .My heartbeat. Finally, I turn to face this person, this man so it appeared. The same blank expression that had always been there never changed once. Then it came.  
  
"I'll always be there for you. Always and Forever. Nothing has changed."  
  
Watch me rise, right before your eyes  
  
I am all, that you knew that I could be  
  
The doubt is gone I won't leave you standing all alone 


	10. Christmas, Merr?

Author's Notes: Contest fic for the Clan Daimaou fanfiction contest on DeviantArt. Check it out.

Disclaimer: I in no part claim ownership of any of the Dragonball serries characters in any way, shape or form whatsoever.

Christmas, Merry?

For a long time now I have wondered about my ambitions, wondered about my sole purpose in life, where I was going, what I had done before- childish things some might say, but the opinions of others never dwelled long on my mind. I had better things to do. I thought I did at least.

It's a funny thing, how you can think one thing at a time and only minutes later be against that thought with all your body, soul, mind. For me those minutes lasted years, years in which I spent my time silently breaking people, forcing them to submission by doing purely, simply nothing other than exist- breath- live.

Had I known things would turn out like this, I would have changed, Or would I? The matter of a man and his family is a delicate one, one that with the slightest change in the winds can shift, turns from butterfly to moth, to decay, a stain upon the world.

I'm loosing it. I can feel it. My cool, my calm, my secret I love to kill, to share. What makes me who I am is slowly slipping through my fingers like water. I can't hold on, I've tried. No matter what I do or what I say, It will be gone, flying beyond my reach, beyond my hope

But for however long I can hold on to it, I will. I will keep It safe, keep it dear, love it, hate it, destroy it- anything I can do will be for it- him.

Never did I tell and never will I tell, not even to you. No one will know. I'm taking it to my grave for the dead to pick apart- only the dead.

You'll love it, I promise. My mind is not fragmented, simply my December thoughts. You couldn't understand, and I do not expect you to it would be unfair, unjust. All I ask of you, human, is to listen, to hear me speak through my silence, reveal my mind like an open book- the test has always been there, you just haven't seen. Fool.

Once, long ago, I relied on myself. I could do things by myself, I was perfect, and I was proud enough to not accept that fact.

Who am I? I'm not perfect. I'm not God. I'm not an idol…I am. . .I'm a saint of a sinner, a pawn perhaps, but mostly, what I feel, what I know I am is what I was born to be. A prince? No. A leader? No. A Father? Never. I was made a demon, and I will fulfill that one position in life if I am useless for everything else. I will be what I always was and never had the courage to accept all this time.

No more rambling. I've spoken my share and them some. It's over. Silence can reign a thousand years. Frankly, I don't give a damn. Let the earth do what it must to save itself. I must do what I can to save it- him him him. . .It…..Him….The same will always be. Beast and man.

The snow came, at first as a rush of innocence in a land long since deprived of the childhood bliss that comes with the first winter snow. It had always been like this for as long as he could remember. The first snow always was delicate, peaceful, like a still photograph. The children would play, the adults listen, watch, enjoy the few precious moments before their children pushed them away for the 'better things' in life and those first trips into the wonderland were all but lost in the diesel fumes and growing decay of society.

These times always managed to get to him in one way or another. Despite the Christmas season, which never held brace in his mind to begin with, was now a saddening time, one that made him stop every so often, hold his loose garments close, and contemplate things before it became too much for one solitary person to handle. It seemed that as the years passed these sessions lasted longer, drawing themselves out like people on deathbeds, grasping for those few moments more, all to catch the next breath, see the next spring rose bloom, see, feel, touch everything just one last time before the sky would be blocked and the taste of sweet wine traded for the peat and lime.

It was the city's fault, always had been. The very place itself was foreboding, full of fragmented memories, wounds that never quite healed, love that had been rinsed away by bleach that still remained heavy in the air. Closing emerald lids over eyes that were comparable to onyx in depth and color, he continued, one step after the other, as he had always taken things. His tracks were not left behind, for the snow soon covered them, making a new surface, unread, unflawed, waiting to entrap another lost soul to add to the collection.

As vengeful monsters the buildings stood, each one with its own feeling, its own cast steel personality that could be seen through closed eyes and heard through the echoing bellows of metal bowing to nature.

It was a graveyard for the living.

To any normal eye the city would seem pristine, as though it had never been touched by time and time could never touch it, no matter how the old man pushed, the city could never give. Homer's Cyclops, the city mimicked it as a blinded giant, unable to sense the cries of its victims, but still hunting them down one by one, smelling their very blood out as a hound. It had always been a vicious game.

Howling, the wind bit into the ground, sinking iced razors into the soil itself, picking up glassy crystals of snowflakes and hurling them at the one man army which dared oppose its will. Still, the man stood as the Greek statues of days long since past, an imbedable fortress that withstood a thousand generations and would live to see a thousand more.

Leaving a trail of footsteps across the snow-covered path, he kept on, holding his head high even though his spirits were lower than the ground he tread upon. A tiny package was kept next to his heart, held by a steady hand that had been scared and calloused throughout the pitfalls of life. It was a small thing, wrapped in brown paper and held together by twine. Not what one would generally call a Christmas present by any stretch of the word, but the common sights that humans were acclimated to did not apply to him. Few aspects of human life did and would.

Doors creaked open as the wind manipulated them like puppets, windows slammed down as though prompted by some invisible force, but most of all, the eyes kept on watching, waiting for him to take one wrong step, to make a solitary mistake so they could accuse. It was the way of the land.

He sighed softly; shaking his head is disdain for this place, this wasteland, this city of lost souls confined in an impermeable trap for all of eternity. Something inside him ached, a dull throb, like a heartbeat steadily slowing, but becoming louder, more painful with each beat. Call it heartache, call it paranoia, call him insane, whatever the case was, this hellhole was causing it.

They say absolute power rules absolutely and those who have power are unwilling to share it. It has and will always be true. This city had absolute power over everyone in it, as though it were the dungeon master and the citizens were no more than worthless prisoners. Come hell or high water, the city would keep its grasp, hold onto it till its last dying breath, and even after age had come to claim its prize, the power would not be pulled from cold, bony fingers.

A child of no more than five sat upon a covered dumpster, worn clothes proving to burn as bright as embers across the perfection of the snow. His eyes were hollow, an empty shade of brown and dark as the seas are wide. He was only staring out, wetting his lips every so often as if expecting a feast that never was to come; because of this he was the most lost of them all. He was never to change, never to gain, never to loose; he would stay as he is till the day he died, and then his children would carry out the legacy of starvation.

Turning a blind eye to the child, he pressed on, body frozen and emotions much the same. An alleyway came up. Nothing was particularly special in its appearance, only a mess of concrete and red brick that had been stained by the elements. Ice hung from the building, carnivorous teeth waiting to close in on the willing prey. When everything was quiet, when the wind stopped howling and the snow fell silent under ones feet, a little voice whispers, "I love you, I'll kill you"

Glancing to the far end of the way, one single door made itself known, choosing to open on the wind's breath only when gazed upon and slamming shut once it had lost attention.

It was his door.

Everybody has a door. Some doors lead to fame, fortune, anything the heart can desire- a fairy tale door so to say. Other doors lead to a life of poverty, of sadness, the horror life. But this door, this one was different. It had no lock or key, no knob or opening. To many it would have seemed useless, and for the most part it was that. This door, unlike all the others had no destination. It lead nowhere, not past not present, nor future. It leads into blackness, void of all hope, of light, of sound. It was the claimer of everything good and righteous in this world and the maker of sorrow of factories, of broken lives. It was the Devil's City.

Clenching a fist till mauve droplets appeared in the drifts, he drew in a breath and sauntered towards his destination, calm starting to dissipate as he drew nearer. Although no physical threat came from the door, something else did, something far more harmful than a thousand curses, more breaking than a lifetime of labor; it was the memories.

Closing his eyes, he went back to a time where all the grass was green, the skies were always blue, and the children, however loud and obnoxious they were, always played without the constant fear in their eyes that today might be their last. Even though the moment only lasted but a few second, a passing glance at a playground, it was still one of the few things he cared to remember this time of the year when all was covered, when all was dead.

In another breath came the remembrance of a child with nappy hair and limited potential; a child whose pale lime skin and hopeful blue eyes had not experienced the pain that came along with being born of this world, a child whose biggest fears was the monster under the bed. That child was gone now, and he could have saved him. He could, but the world was more important than one idolizing kid. Nine billion was more important than one . . .Wasn't it?

Extending his hand to catch the door before it slammed shut again, he looked upon the engraved words. "No Daimaou", clear as the daylight, as though the words had been burned in. Closing his eyes once more, gathering his thoughts, he stepped in, into the darkness, into the home that once was.

Not even a flicker of a light existed aside from what little the fading gray sky had to give. It was a dead house with a dead past, not even rats cared to dwell in this place, for only the concrete and iron could withstand the pressure of pure abstinence from society, from family. Standing in the doorway, body outlines by an almost heavenly light from outside, he brought the package to his sight, staring at it with eyes sharper than any blade and colder than the deepest regions of space. The package was slightly wrinkled on one side where he haphazardly had attempted to wrap it only hours before. Running calloused hands over the otherwise smooth surface, his stone expression softened. It became an almost surprised expression with eyes wide open, lips parted narrowly; letting puffs of air escape as transparent clouds.

Snapping out of his daze, he regained that air he always held about him and stepped forward like a general leading a proud army. His heart set the drumbeat, going at a steady speed, yet still far faster than normal. Hidden excitement took the form of a partial smirk as he awaited the time he could finally deliver the gift into the hands of someone who was convinced he no longer mattered. That would be the best blessing of all, to see the face of that person, that look of melting astonishment, a look that cannot be bought or manufactured, something of the utmost purity.

Silence came to welcome his presence, pristine silence. The seconds passed into minutes, which dragged at his very being. Keeping his shoulders level, he looked around slowly, as if suddenly expecting to be attacked. The tingling feeling traveled down his spine, causing him to shiver, and still, he waited for the moment when the child would come to him as he had those many years ago.

Hours past, one or two at first, then they came in a plague . . .Three . . .Four . . .Six . . .Nothing. He stood there in that lonely room, haunting it like the long since forgotten. The dull ache was back, stronger than ever. It choked him, pulled him to the ground, crushed his every dream, his every hope as though it were nothing more than garbage. With a trembling breath he set the package down at his feet, hesitated, catching his last fair glance of the wonder that he had kept safe for so long, then he left. Simply, silently, as though not a thing had happened, as if he had never walked inside in the first place.

A set of crystal blue eyes watched him go, watched the way he walked, the way he held his head, watched everything about him from above on a nearby rooftop. Pale pink lips formed hushed words and skin of he fairest lime wrinkled in disgust with itself. Steadying a quaking hand, he climbed down slowly, not wanting to disrupt the person who he had disappointed the most.

Landing with feet apart on the ground, he crept into the building, timid and aware, praying to any force that would listen that he would not be caught. Clutching his thin coat to his sides, he staggered in and knelt by the parcel, shaking from head to toe from the cold and rising anticipation. Taking a trembling claw, he warily cut the twine then winced, under the impression he had committed a heinous act. Taking a breath he sliced the tape open and peeled back the paper.

Immediately after catching sight of the gift he stood up, wiped his nose with the back of his hand before folding his arms over his chest and pacing the room. Mute words formed in his eyes before he could unclench his throat enough to speak. Faint whimpers came from his restraint of the howls that wished to break through. Placing a hand over his eyes to hide his shame he dropped to his knees in front of where the gift had been laid.

It was a winged cross, one with sterling feathers any angel would be proud to call his own. It was beauty, grace, a symbol of perfection, of the love that still existed though all these years, and of a love that would never be forgotten.

Strands of grayed hair fell into his face as he picked himself up and ran outside, hoping to catch the only person that mattered anymore. Turning out of the alley with newfound hope resting on his sleeve and smile that seemingly could never fade on his face, he met only a wall of snow falling down in the wake.

He was gone, it was too late.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he turned around and went back in hopes that the man would soon return; he even wrapped the gift back up and waited in the exact spot. But nothing was ever to come, there was to be no meeting, no proud tears, no embrace, nothing. It was all lost that one evening when the foolishness and pride he had ceased his father's happiness, and in that, his.

Piccolo died three days later, going peacefully in his sleep as he waited for his son to return to him, something that would only happen in his eternal dream.


End file.
